


Ray of Light

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-02
Updated: 1999-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-11 01:36:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11138613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived atDue South Archive. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDue South Archive collection profile.





	Ray of Light

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Ray of Light

## Ray of Light

by Karen Rossi

* * *

I started this story before the revelations of 'Armando Langostini' in Spy vs. Spy so, for the next few minutes, 'fawgeddaboutit'. 

I'd like to say 'Grazie Infinite!' to Fiorella for her invaluable assistance with the use of Italian. La ringrazio molto! 

As always, my thanks to Jennifer for beta-reading. 

And as always, 'pro and con' comments welcome at 

Rated 'R' --  
Graphic Violence  
Dark Content  
Language  
Angst  
H/C 

Ray of Light  
by Karen Rossi 

The camera was an impartial witness and the black and white videotape it produced was brutal. The microphone that was in place was supposed to record sounds, but the attack was almost entirely silent. 

The elevator was empty as it traveled to the subbasement. Once there, a large elegantly dressed gentleman entered and pushed the button for the first floor. In a mockery of civility, he calmly brushed the dust and cobwebs from the shoulders from his beautifully made overcoat. 

A mechanical 'bing' sounded as the elevator stopped at the first floor. When the doors opened, Constable Benton Fraser entered and removed his Stetson. He smiled and nodded to the gentleman already occupying the elevator and said, "Good day" as he tucked his hat under his arm. The gentleman nodded back a greeting. Fraser pushed the button for the fifth floor and stood watching the elevator lights. The men rode in silence to the second floor. 

The 'bing' heralded another stop at the next floor and a second elegantly dressed gentleman entered, his style almost identical to the first. 

As the doors closed, the attack was swift. 

The larger man who stood beside Fraser quickly grabbed his arms and pinned them painfully behind his back while his accomplice dug out a set of keys from his pocket, opened the elevator panel, and flipped a switch shutting down the elevator. 

Fraser planted his feet firmly on the ground and threw all his weight backwards into the man that held him. The larger man barely moved and only grimaced as a result of the Mountie's determined struggles. 

After leaving the elevator panel, the second man withdrew his gun from his overcoat pocket and gripped it by the barrel. He sprinted over to where Fraser was struggling and slammed the handle into the side of his head. With a groan, Fraser went limp in his captor's arms, his head resting heavily on his shoulder, eyes unfocused, staring at the elevator ceiling. The second man reached up and closed his fist in Fraser's hair and pulled the Mountie's face forward. He slammed the gun handle into his face again, leaving a huge black and blue welt across his temple and cheek. Fraser's knees buckled and the man that held him let him fall to the floor. 

In unison, they turned Fraser onto his stomach and roughly tied his wrists behind him. After turning him onto his back, the second man returned his attention to the elevator panel, flipping switches and pushing the button for the subbasement. The first man wrapped duct tape around Fraser's head; across his eyes and then his mouth, muffling the Mountie's groans. 

The elevator doors opened in the subbasement. The men placed Fraser's Stetson on his abdomen as they carried him, under the arms and knees, out of the elevator. 

The videotape timer showed that only thirty-three seconds had elapsed. Thirty-three seconds in which Constable Benton Fraser had disappeared from the face of the earth. 

Lieutenant Welsh and Ray Kowalski viewed the videotape for what seemed like the thousandth time. Forensics had turned up nothing in the elevator. The assailants had kept their faces from the camera; no photograph was usable. A general description of the men was circulated. 

The Canadian Consulate verified that Constable Fraser was the acting Liasion Officer as Inspector Thatcher was out of the country. They were not aware of his being involved in any Internal Affairs, just his usual duties. 

Neither man had slept in the nearly fourty-eight hours since Fraser had disappeared. Weariness and frustration ached their bodies and souls. 

There was nothing they could do. 

* * *

Salvatore Angelaccio strolled down the hospital corridor. 

Don Gaetano Cimmino was dying. His fifty year marriage had never produced a son and his nephew, Ralph Salerno, would be his successor. The Don had only known Salvatore for eight months but had come to love him as if he were his own son. And although their time together had been short, Salvatore had come to like Don Cimmino as well. And it made him glad that The Don would be dead when he brought the family down. God would give Don Cimmino his justice. Salvatore would have to settle for Ralph Salerno, which was OK by him. 

Keeping his expression impassive, he smiled inwardly and looked forward to the day when he would bring the vicious psychopath to justice. Ralph was everything his uncle was not. Although ruthless, Don Cimmino was benevolent and practiced skilled intimidation. Ralph killed because he enjoyed it and the body count was rising. His succession to the head of the Cimmino crime family would cause war among the various families. The Feds were antsy, eager for results. 

Salvatore sent a prayer heavenward asking God and the Saints to watch over his family and to keep them healthy and safe until he could be back with them. 

Wise guys clustered around the doorway to The Don's room. 

"Hey, Sal. Glad you're here. The Don's been asking for ya." 

"How's he doing today?" Salvatore indicated the old man with a twist of his head. 

"Not so good. He's still having chest pains. They had to increase the nitroglycerin drip again. Between that and the morphine, he's pretty out of it." 

"Salvatore, figlio mio ...", the old man called from his death bed. 

Gaetano Cimmino loved Salvatore. The old man wished he had met Salvatore fifteen years earlier. If he had, he would have groomed Salvatore to become Don and gratefully placed his beloved family business into Salvatore's capable hands. But they hadn't and Salvatore's work in Atlantic City and Las Vegas had gotten him a position as a Lieutenant in Detroit's powerful Cimmino crime family. Vouched for by family members and associates, the Don had only met Salvatore eight months ago and liked him immediately. 

Unlike the younger men in the business, Salvatore knew of 'i vecchi metodi', the old ways, and treated the business as it should be: the source of one's power; something to be defended, respected, and obeyed. Younger men in the family, nursed on crime novels and movies, sensationalized and demeaned the family business by always equating violence with glory. Don Cimmino had tried to make the younger men understand that fear and intimidation are better than killing because a corpse does not produce money. 

The old man, his hands shaking with senile trembling, took Salvatore's face in his hands and kissed his brow. He gazed into the green eyes and light olive complexion and spoke softly to his 'son' in Italian. 

After their brief talk, The Don slumped exhausted against the pillow and Salvatore kissed his hand. 

Ralph Salerno motioned to Salvatore and the two men left the room and spoke quietly in the hallway. 

"Sal, we have a situation and I need your help." 

Salvatore nodded. "You can count on me Mr. Salerno." 

"I know I can, Sal. I know I can," he said as he lit a cigarette in flagrant disregard of numerous 'No Smoking' signs along the hallway. Ralph gave a slight nod and twist of his head, indicating they should walk down the corridor. 

"For years now, we've had this real sweet deal going. Theo Breslau was a family friend in Canada. He's been coming down to us and been supplying him with whatever he wants: heroin, speed, cocaine, whatever. It's easy for him to cross the border and so it's like real quiet, right? Our profit is good, the demand is high and nobody knows and it's real sweet. Anyway, this jerk-off Breslau finds God or religion or some shit, who the fuck knows. So one night, he decides to repent. Goes to the Canadian police in Chicago and tells them every fucking thing." 

The two men stopped by a window while Ralph squashed the tip of his cigarette on the sill. 

"Anyway, the Canadian police there and the FBI have him hid away for safekeeping. We bugged the Canadian place and this very funny jerk-off there only talks to the FBI in Eskimo." 

Salvatore gasped. 

"I know", Ralph said as he lit another cigarette. "Like I said, he's a very funny guy. Anyway, Joey and Petie brought this Canadian jerk-off here two days ago and they said he ain't said thing one. That fuck-up Nicky is with them and they said he beat the shit outta him so maybe now he can't talk. Even in Eskimo." 

His stomach was tightly, painfully clenched and the nausea was now in the back of his throat. But eleven years as a Chicago cop and eight months with the Cimmino family had taught him many things and the impassive look on Salvatore's face did not waiver. 

The two men looked out of the hospital window into Detroit's warm morning. The soft noise of Ralph drawing on the cigarette was the only sound. 

"I need Joey and Petie now. You go with Nicky and make this jerk-off talk and tell you where he's hid Breslau or put a bullet in his fucking head." 

Salvatore had been silent throughout and just nodded. "I'll take care of it, Mr. Salerno." 

"You're a good man, Sal. I know you will." 

* * *

After saying goodbye to Don Cimmino and other family members, Salvatore Angelaccio casually walked down the hospital corridor. With every step he took, memories of the love and life he left behind came roaring back to him full force. Memories suppressed. Memories held in check only by the force of will. Memories he *had* to suppress if he was going to make it out of this assignment alive. Otherwise, the pain and despair would swallow him whole. It was not easy or pleasant, but only by doing so could he stay alive. 

Confidently, he walked down the hallway and into the visitor's bathroom. Once inside, he fell to his knees beside the commode and threw up. 

When the violent retching subsided, he stood up and went to the sink. Cool water washed away the bitter taste in his throat and the sweat from his face. However, it did not lessen his despair or pain. 

He didn't know how long he stood at the sink, clutching the sides to support himself. He didn't realize he was talking either; just slowly realized he was constantly repeating: 

"Ohmigod, help me. Ohmigod, help me. Ohmigod, help me. Ohmigod, help me." 

He looked at the pale, green-eyed stranger in the mirror's reflection and knew one thing. 

He had to get to Benny. 

* * *

A hand clenched in his hair and roughly pulled his head up, shaking it ferociously. The movement alone sent pains rebounding through his head. Nausea choked him as he watched the dusty warehouse spin. 

"Where is he? Where is he?" Somebody was screaming at him between furious shakes. 

Constable Benton Fraser had stopped wondering who 'he' was hours ago. Theo Breslau? Ray Vecchio? Didn't matter. Either way, he'd never tell. 

The man, his left hand still tightly grasping Fraser's hair, held his head steady while he made a fist with his right. His arm came forward in a powerful, vicious swing. 

The Mountie had just closed his eyes when the fist impacted with his face, sending his head snapping back. Painful, white hot stars exploded in his head and he felt something in his face pop. Follow-up punches to his ribs and stomach added to the agonizing stabbing pains in his chest and midriff. 

"Ah ... ah ... ah ..." 

A voice called from far away. "Yo, Nicky. Give it a break. Come and have some coffee and pastry." 

"Yeah. Sure. Be right there." 

"Ah ... ah ..." 

The hand was back in his hair viciously shaking his head. 

"Hey. Dumb Fuck. You get some beauty rest. I'll be back in a few." 

His hand abruptly released the clump of hair in his fist and Fraser's head fell limply to his chest. Retreating footsteps told him the man was walking away. 

They had left him alone again. 

He could feel his awareness fading; painless, warm blackness was coming for him. He let himself drift mercifully away. 

* * *

Ralph Salerno's driver, Jimmy, was talkative and filled Sal in on the details. 

Joey, Petie, and Nicky were in an abandoned warehouse with a cop that wouldn't talk. Nicky was frustrated with the cop; Joey and Petie were frustrated with Nicky. They had been calling in and reporting how Nicky, out-of-control and increasingly agitated, had been screaming and yelling, a constant threat to their security. Joey and Petie were needed elsewhere now. His instructions were clear: Get the cop to talk, then kill him. Simple. 

Several times he had been cautioned by Jimmy. 

"Sal, Nicky's causing major problems with this. I was talkin' to Joey on the cell phone and even *I* heard him screamin' in the background. Anyway, don't get yourself fucked because of that asshole. The warehouse is in a pretty quiet area, there's really no traffic going by, but who knows? Maybe a homeless person could hear him yellin'. Who knows? Anyway, you hear anything: police sirens, activity outside, anything ... get the fuck out of there. There's a back door that opens right to a subway. Get out the back and just hop on the subway and disappear into the crowd. Just relax and enjoy the ride. Capisce?" 

"No problem. Thanks, Jimmy." 

The driver called Petie's cell phone. 

"Hey, Petie. It's Jimmy. Listen, I'm just dropping off Sal at Front Street now. He'll be there in a few. When he gets there, you and Joey leave by the subway. I'll pick you up on Market Street. Good ... see you in a bit." 

"OK, Sal. You get out here. Here's the address. Good luck with that moron Nicky." 

"Thanks, Jimmy." Salvatore smiled and shook his hand. He stepped out of the car and casually walked down the street. 

* * *

Just after their poker hand had been dealt, Joseph Provenzano and Peter Capasse exchanged glances over their cards as, yet again, Nicky began to yell. 

Joey shook his head sadly. "Your turn." 

Petie let out a sigh of disgust as he threw his cards face down on the table. He stood wearily. 

"Man, we shoulda shot him two days ago." 

"Who? Nicky or the cop?" 

"That pain-in-the-ass Nicky. He screams like a girl." 

"Well, don't worry. When Sal gets here, Nicky will be his problem." 

"Thank God." 

Nicky let out another shrill scream and Petie's hands went reflexively to his ears. 

"That sound. That friggin' sound. It goes right through my friggin' head." 

"Go shut him up, will ya? Somebody hears him yelling, they'll call the cops for sure." 

The large man ambled through the doorway. "Yeah, yeah." His footsteps echoed down the wooden hallway. 

"And Joey! Don't look at my cards." 

"Petie! You hurt me! You know I'd never do that," Joey said as he studied the cards he had just dealt to his friend. 

The sounds of fists hitting flesh became louder as he traveled through the abandoned warehouse. 

Petie had turned the corner just in time to see the cop's head snap back with a spray of blood flying arcoss the room. 

"Ah ... ah ..." 

The cop's chin hit his chest and he slumped forward in the chair to which he was bound. 

"Yo. Nicky. Next time I haveta come in here and tell you to shut the fuck up, I'm gonna put a bullet in your friggin' kneecap. Capisce?" 

"Sorry, Petie. It's just that this fuck won't talk, ya know?" 

Petie gently lifted Fraser's head and looked into his face. He looked minutes away from being dead. He was sure the cop was drawing his last breaths. 

"Listen, Nicky. He ain't talked in two days. Look at him. He's not going to talk now. I don't think he *can* talk now. Just leave him alone for a minute. Sal will be here soon. Maybe he can do something to get him to talk. Come on. Wash up and look nice for Sal." 

* * *

The beating had stopped for the moment and they left him to his own thoughts. 

Blood and drool ran from his mouth and over his split lips wetting the dry and crusted blood that covered his uniform, making it sticky. 

Benton Fraser knew that he was going to die. 

Even worse than the physical pain were the thoughts of his friends, those who he loved and would leave behind. He knew that his body would never be found; his captors would just dispose of his corpse in a convenient lake or pond. The greater pain was from the thoughts of his friends, wondering what had happened and futilely trying to find him. The weeks would turn to months and the months to years. More lives wasted. He knew the tenacity of both Ray Vecchio and Ray Kowalski. They would never stop looking and would gladly die trying. 

He began to cry. Blood tinged tears fell into his lap. 

Just maybe, after he was dead, he could appear to them as his father did to him. He could tell them that it was OK. Just maybe ... 

The smell of the stale blood added to his nausea. How he wished he could breathe sweet air just one more time before he died. Hours ago, he could lift his head and turn it a little, away from the stentch of dried blood and drool on his chest and lap. Even the dusty warehouse air was better than this. But now, his head and neck hurt far too much; any movement was nearly impossible. 

He was going to die breathing the scent of stale blood and his friends would waste their lives trying to find him. Despair overwhelmed him as the bloody tears continued to fall into his lap. 

Never before in his entire existence had his life been lit by so few hopes. 

Consciousness was ebbing and as his body curled forward, he felt the chair begin to tip. He felt his face slap against the floor just as the blackness overwhelmed him. 

* * *

Despite his panic and fear, Ray Vecchio managed to stroll casually and unnoticed down the street. 

In turmoil, his thoughts scattered and rolled around inside his head. 

*I need a plan. I need a plan.* 

Something simple and logical where he could help Benny while simultaneously *not* blowing his cover. 

Stopping at a diner, now quiet after the morning breakfast crowd had left, Ray walked to phone booth in the back. Closing the door behind him, the light flickered on. 

He dialed a phone number he had memorized eight months ago but had never used. 

The phone picked up in a half ring. Ray Vecchio spoke to his FBI contact and told him that Ralph Salerno was looking for a Theo Breslau and that he was going into a situation where he could potentially be identified as an undercover cop. After being given all the details, the FBI agent was hesitant, he did not want Ray entering the situation. Arguing that he did not call for permission or advice, Ray said he just wanted some form of back-up as they would not want his cover blown since he was already close to Salerno. 

The agent agreed and said he'd provide some appropriate helpful measures. 

Ray heaved a sigh of relief as he hung up the phone. He had his 'Plan A'. 

It seemed to take forever, but finally the address he kept frantically repeating in his head finally matched the numbers on the decaying building. As per Jimmy's instructions, he slipped down a side alley and made his way to the back door at the rear of the building. 

He had expected Joey or Petie to be waiting, but no one was there to greet him. With heightened senses, he listened. 

There was total silence in the building. 

Fearing the worst, that Benny was already dead and his associates gone, he slowly pulled open the metal door. And as he did, bright daylight came with him. At first it was reed thin and fragile, but it slowly swelled, gathering strength, filling the dark warehouse. Ray entered with the light; a light that shattered the darkness. 

He closed the door quietly, shutting out the distant noises of Detroit's city life, and listened intently. 

He heard voices talking softly from somewhere deep within the warehouse. He followed them quietly. They became louder as he traveled through the cavernous warehouse. 

Wanting to make his presence known, he called out softly. "Petie! Joey! It's me, Sal." 

As he turned a corner, he saw a smiling Joey coming towards him. 

"Hey, Sal! Man! Is it good to see you!" He gave Ray a warm embrace. "Good thing you were callin' out. I wouldn't want to shoot you by accident, ya know?" 

"Hey, Joey. It's good to see you too," Ray said, returning the embrace. "I hear Nicky's acting up." 

"Oh, God. Don't get me started. I think Petie's ready to shoot him. I wouldn't have stopped him either." 

Ray swallowed hard. "Has the cop said anything?" 

"He ain't said thing fuckin' one, Sal. Nicky let into him before he was fully conscious. Ah, he's almost dead now. The only good thing about this whole fuckin' mess is me and Petie had some great pizza in Chicago when we were hauling the cop's ass up here," Joey said as they turned a corner and entered a large room. 

Ray saw Petie and Nicky standing over ... 

*Benny!* 

Ray's heart clenched painfully. 

The Mountie was bound to a chair, his arms pulled awkwardly behind his back. He was on the floor, laying on his side, his back to Ray. He glimpsed blue suspenders. 

*He's wearing his brown uniform.* 

"Yo, Petie, Nicky. Sal's here." 

Both men turned from the cop on the floor and smiled. 

Petie's face was lit with relief. "Sal! You *don't* know how good it is to see you!", he said as they embraced. 

"Hey, Sal. Looks like it's up to me and you to get this fuck to talk", Nicky said with a greasy smile as he indicated Fraser with his thumb pointing over his shoulder. 

Despite his raging anger and the almost paralyzing fear for Fraser's life, Ray managed a companionable smile. "I think we'll manage to take care of this." 

"Well, guys, we're out of here." 

Petie shared a sympathetic glance with Ray. "Good luck, Sal." 

"Thanks. Take care of yourselves." 

They heard Joey and Petie leave by the back door that led to the subway. 

"Sal, I know you just got here and all, but do you mind if we take a break? Man, my hand and wrist are killin' me", Nicky said as he shook his forearm, as if trying to restore normal sensation. 

"Yeah, sure, Nicky. No problem." He shot a glance towards Fraser. "He, ah ...", Ray swallowed as emotion threatened to overwhelm him, "he, ah ... looks like he's not ready to talk anyway." 

"Good. Then I'm just gonna go to a restaurant a few blocks over. There's a real cute waitress there. Can I bring you back something, Sal? A coffee or anything?" 

"Nah. I'm fine." 

"OK, then. Well, I'll just see you in a few." 

Ray watched as Nicky walked down a hallway which led to the front door. He pushed the bar mechanism, releasing the lock in door, which opened easily. 

Alone. Finally. 

His heart breaking, Ray spun in a tight circle from the door and dashed over to his friend. 

Fraser lay on his right side, a small pool of blood by his mouth. 

"Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!" 

The left side of Fraser's face was dark purple from bruising and misshapen from the swelling. The eye was closed, crusted with dried blood. Yellow fluid oozed from under the lid. His lips were split and Ray could tell that his nose was broken. 

Stinging tears blurred Ray's vision as he felt for a pulse at the Mountie's neck. A rapid and fluttering pulse was found deep under the swollen skin. Ray's heart nearly broke with relief. 

"Oh, Benny." 

In his career as a Chicago cop, he had seen bodies this badly beaten \-- usually in the morgue. 

Fraser's arms were secured with duct tape at the wrists. At some point during his captivity, the Mountie must have been trying to pull his wrists free as the duct tape had rolled on itself, becoming narrow and constrictive; his hands were purple and grotsquely swollen. 

Ray frantically worked to remove the tape. 

"Oh, Jesus Christ! Oh, Jesus Christ!" 

"Benny!" 

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with thee ..." 

* * *

There was a sound. 

A distant sound that invaded the painless blackness in which he floated. 

He chose to ignore it and tried, once again, to turn towards the comforting darkness. 

No ... 

The sound was back. Closer now. Harder to ignore. Pulling him away from the darkness. 

"Benny!" 

Pulling him away from where he desperately wanted to go. 

"Hail Mary, Full of Grace, the Lord is with Thee ..." 

Sensations were returning. He could feel the agonizing, throbbing pain in his body. 

"Blessed art Thou, amongst women ..." 

The darkness was receding and he was being pulled towards sound, pain, and light. 

"Benny! Benny! I need you to wake up!" 

He began to cry. 

*Please let me die. Please let me die.* 

Hands were on his body. They were back. Time for more. 

*Oh no! Please let me die.* 

"And Blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb, Jesus ..." 

He heard himself whimper as he tried desperately to pull away from the hands. 

Then he heard it through his moans. A voice. The voice of a dear friend, now gone. 

"Benny! Please! I need you to wake up!" 

*I'm dreaming ...* 

"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners ..." 

The voice. *Ray? Ray Vecchio? No! ... I'm dreaming ...* 

The touch was different. He was not being hit ... he was being held ... cradled in someone's arms. Gentle, comforting hands stroked his face and hair. 

"Benny! Please! Wake up! They'll be back soon!" 

That voice ... he knew that voice ... 

*No! It can't be! Ray! Ray!* 

Dream or not, for the first time in days, his heart swelled with joy. He had to know. Fraser struggled to open his eyes. 

* * *

Ray held the battered body gently and softly called to Fraser. He watched as his best friend returned to painful consciousness. At first, crying and moaning, then twitching as he began to moan louder. 

"Benny, please. You have to wake up. I promise you can rest later. Please, Benny. Wake up. They'll be back soon." 

The Mountie's eyelids began to flutter and only the swollen right eye could open to a tiny slit. Fraser stared vacantly up at Ray, his expression perplexed as the images created by his damaged eye refused to solidify. 

*Ray! It can't be!* 

But he didn't need his vision to verify what the joy in his heart had already told him. Ray was here now, smiling down at him. 

"Ay! Ay ..." 

Ray heard the sickening click of Fraser's fractured jaw as he tried to speak. 

"Shh. Benny. It's me. Don't speak." 

Fraser smiled and began to cry harder. 

"Ay!" 

The Mountie turned his head fractionally in Ray's lap and all he wanted to do was hold Fraser and keep him safe. 

* * *

Minutes passed. The warehouse was silent. 

Ray just sat, holding Fraser in his arms. 

*Where's the fucking cavalry? Where's the fucking cavalry? They should be here by now.* 

A stray thought took root and flowered. *What if his contact *couldn't* make the 'arrangements'? What if his contact *didn't* make the 'arrangements'? What if there is no back-up?* 

Maybe he'd been too honest with his FBI contact. He had admitted that the missing Canadian Deputy Liasion Officer from Chicago was badly beaten and hadn't spoken since he was taken. Maybe they thought that there was no real threat to his cover because the Canadian was so injured that he wouldn't be able to identify him. How important was Benny's life to the FBI anyway? Not at all, really. If anything, they'd be using their resources right now to protect Breslau. Bottom line: there was no need to rush to the warehouse. Their agent 'Salvatore Angelaccio' and their informant Theo Breslau would be safe; the Canadian would be an unexpected and unfortunate but acceptable loss. 

Ray began to panic. He had relied too much on someone other than himself ... or Benny. 

Urgency returned. Unbelieveably, his heart began to pound harder and faster. How much time had passed? *Nicky could be back any second. Fuck the fucking cavalry!* 

Ray's mind was racing. *I need a plan. I need a plan.* 

Ray's thoughts were coming like rifle fire. 

*What can I do?* 

He certainly couldn't be found holding Fraser like this. Nicky would shoot both of them. 

It wouldn't work if he said he'd been overpowered by the cop. They'd shoot him on the spot for two reasons. First, they wouldn't believe him and second for being so stupid. 

He just couldn't carry Benny out of the warehouse in his arms -- *he'd* blow his own cover. The FBI would only provide him cursory protection; they didn't appreciate it when their agents did something completely stupid. He and his family would only be marginally safe. The mob would be relentless in their pursuit and there would be nowhere to hide. 

Maybe if he made it look like Benny escaped ... He could say the cop wasn't as bad off as they believed ... 

Nah ... not good. But what other choice did he have? 

Ray listened. Silence inside and outside the warehouse while Fraser moaned and twitched in his lap. 

*If 'Plan A' was so fucking good, I wouldn't need 'Plan B'*, he thought sarcastically. 

He looked down at Fraser and could tell that his friend was drifting in and out of consciousness. 

*Oh no!* 

"Benny!", he said sharply. 

Surprise registered on Fraser's face and his right eye popped open. He began to breathe deeply. 

"Please, I need you to stay with me, buddy. We have to move. We have to get you out of here. It's not over yet. They'll be back." 

Fraser nodded. 

He was loathe to do it but he couldn' t see any alternative. 

"Benny, 'Plan A' went belly-up. We gotta do 'Plan B'. I need you to walk. You think you can do that?" 

Fraser gave a tiny shrug. 

With difficulty, Ray pulled away and lowered Fraser to the floor and quickly stood. 

Ray bent over Fraser and ignored his cries the best he could as he carefully pulled the Mountie upright. 

He placed Fraser's left arm across his shoulders and securely held his left wrist while his right arm went around Benny's waist. 

Fraser was moaning and weaving, his knees buckling with every step, as Ray helped him to walk around the room. 

"Benny, I'm so sorry, but they'll be back. I need you to walk." 

*Jesus! I hope I'm not making him worse.* 

Fraser put his right arm across his chest, holding his throbbing ribs. 

They circled the room several times, Fraser's harsh breathing and stumbling steps were the only sounds. Slowly, Ray realized that less of Fraser's weight was pressed into him; the Mountie was managing to stagger. 

"That's it, Benny. Just one step at a time." 

Ray, half hauling and half dragging the swaying Mountie around the room, together walked to the door that opened into the small hallway that led to the front door where Nicky had exited. 

"Benny, look up." 

Painfully, Fraser lifted his head. 

Ray gestured to the right, down the hallway. "See, Benny? Down there, to your right. There's a door down there. Can you see it?" 

Slowly Fraser turned his head and stared down the corridor. Squinting, his damaged eyes adjusted to the lower light of the hallway and he could make out a dark shape ... of something. 

"Can you see the door?" 

Fraser nodded. 

"It opens real easy, Benny. Just push your weight against it and it'll pop open for you. Then you'll be outside, OK?" 

Fraser's chin fell to his chest as he nodded. The red hot pain and nausea he was experiencing was unbearable. He felt as if he were going to faint. 

Through the filthy glass window beside the door, Ray glimpsed Nicky in the distance running towards the building heading towards the front steps. 

"Jesus Christ! He's back, Benny!" 

Ray turned, quickly hauling the Mountie back to the chair and carefully sat him back down. He pulled Fraser's hands behind his back and slipped the loose duct tape over the wrists. 

"These loops are just here for show, Benny", he said as he laid the tape over the swollen wrists. Just move your arms and the tape will just fall right off, OK?" 

Fraser nodded as he understood. He just had to move his hands fractionally and the tape would be on the floor. 

Ray spoke quickly. "I'm gonna keep Nicky distracted. When we leave the room, you make your way to the front and get out that door. You remember the door I showed you?" 

Fraser gave him a tiny nod. He didn't want Ray to worry, but he *really* felt as if he were going to faint. Ray was talking and he was having a hard time understanding the words. This time, he struggled against the darkness that was threatening to overtake him ... unsuccessfully. 

Fraser's chin hit his chest as he slumped forward in the chair. 

"Fraser! Ohmigod! Jesus! Don't let this happen!" 

"Benny! Please! Stay with me!" 

He held Fraser to his chest and gently shook him. "Fraser! Please! Don't quit on me now! You can rest after you get to the door. I promise." 

Fraser moaned and began to cry. 

"Benny! Nicky's coming! Please! Stay with me! I'll get him out of the room and you get to that door!" 

Ray could hear Nicky running up the front steps. 

One more time, desperately. "Benny, stay with me. Whatever you do, get out that door." 

Fraser nodded as they heard the door kick open. 

Nicky was screaming. 

"Sal! Sal!" 

In that instant, the distraught friend Ray Vecchio disappeared and was replaced by cool, unflappable Salvatore Angelaccio. 

"Yo. Nicky. Just fucking scream, will ya? Tell the whole friggin' city we're here." 

"Sal! The Don's dead! The Don's dead! I heard it over the radio in the restaurant! I gotta make this fuck talk now!" 

Swiftly, he pulled out his gun and pointed it at Fraser. 

"Wanna feel what's it like shot in the knee, Dumb Fuck? Then you'll be begging to tell me where Breslau's hiding." 

He pulled the hammer back. 

"Nicky! No!" Ray screamed as he grabbed Nicky's arm, the shot went wide, shattering a window and ricocheting off an office building across the street. 

Fraser flinched at the report of the gun and painfully lifted his head. 

Nicky screamed, "Yo! Sal! What the fuck?" He indicated Fraser with his gun. "You on his side or what?" 

Through the broken window, Ray could see that a car had screeched to a halt in the street and terrified office workers peeking out the windows. 

*This is it! They'll call the cops now!* 

Nicky was crying and screaming. "Sal! Don't you see what this is? This is a test for me! Ralph never liked me, he only put up with me because of the Don. He *wants* me to blow this. That way, he'll have no reason to keep me." 

Ray glanced at Fraser. He could see that Fraser was battling to stay conscious. As his head began to fall forward, he would quickly pull it back up with a painful gasp. As Fraser's head lolled, Ray shared a glance with him and gave him a tiny nod, as if trying to say: "This is it! Get to the door, Benny!* 

Ray began to pray. *Please God, help him. Help him get out.* 

Ray grabbed Nicky by the forearm and dragged the protesting man out to the adjoining room where Joey and Petie had been playing poker, at the rear of the building. 

*Benny! This is it! Get out that door!* 

Ray pulled Nicky deep into the room, far enough away from the door so they couldn't hear any scuffling noises in the hallway. He hoped. *Please, Benny! Get out the door.* 

Now all he had to do was keep Nicky babbling until the cops arrived. 

* * *

Ray had told him something ... 

Was Ray here? He was sure he was ... and had told him something. 

Slowly, he lifted his head. As best as he could tell, he was alone in the room. 

Ray had told him to ... 

*Run, Benny! Get out the door!* 

He heard Ray's urgent voice, clear and strong, inside his head. 

*Ray?* 

*Get out, Benny! Now's the time! Get out!* 

He moved his arms and the tape he had been struggling with for days fell easily from his wrists. 

Ray had shown him ... something ... 

*The door! Get out the door!* 

On unsteady legs, Fraser rose. The excruciating pain and nausea threatened to send him to his knees. 

He wrapped his left arm around the piercing pain in his chest and extended his right arm forward, groping blindly in the air. 

With each tiny step, white hot pain sliced through his body. 

Ray had shown him something ... Ray had told him to ... 

*The door! Get to the door!* 

He could hear voices, one panicked, one calm. 

With his damaged eyesight, he could only make out a dark indistinct shape that stood out in blurry whiteness. His forearm touched something hard. 

*A door. I'm at a door.* 

He remembered that Ray had told him to turn right. The hallway was shadowed; darker than the room. He couldn't make out any shapes. With every step an effort, he stepped into the darkness. 

Unsteady and weaving, he slid his trembling right hand along the wall for added support as his left arm continued to hold his throbbing ribs. 

Sweat coated his body, making his eyes sting and his hand slick. 

He stumbled and only just regained his balance. He knew if he fell, it would be fatal. He'd never be able to get up. They'd have him again. 

His breathing was harsh and fast, coming in painful gasps. He was choking on blood and drool that he couldn't swallow. He stopped and bent his head down, letting the fluids run out of his mouth. He began to cry. He was going to disappoint Ray. For some reason, he was insistent that he get to a door. Try as he might, he couldn't remember the rest of the plan though ... 

The hallway was dark and chilly. He wanted nothing more that to sink to the floor and lose himself in the the cool blackness. 

*Benny! Please get to the door!* 

Ray's voice ... urging him on ... 

Crying, he asked for Ray's forgiveness. *I can't ... I'm so sorry, Ray. I can't ...* 

His hand touched something metal. 

*A door.* 

He threw himself against it, his waist pressing against the bar lock mechanism. The door popped open slightly. A thin ray of light pierced the darkness. 

* * *

After they entered the room, Ray gave Nicky a vindictive shove as he let go of his arm, pushing him deep into a corner of the large room. 

"OK, Nicky. If this *is* a test for you, don't you think we should try to make the cop talk and not shoot him? Look at him! You've been beating him for two days. He's bad off as it is. Shooting him will only kill him. Think about it. If you want him to talk, you can't shoot him." Ray kept his voice calm and even. *Oh, please, Benny. Get out the door!* 

Ray's heart filled with equal parts of fear and joy when he heard sirens in the distance. This is it!Did Nicky hear? He didn't think so. Nicky was still crying and agitated. 

*Wait for it ... wait for it ... throw everything into chaos.* 

Nicky was yelling. "Sal! Jesus Christ! Where do *you* think Joey and Petie went? Ralph has a mole in the FBI that probably came through! I think he sent Joey and Petie to hit Breslau. He's not taking any chances \-- he's playing both ends. Breslau's probably dead right now. They *never* needed this Dumb Fuck! This is a test for me! I *need* to show him that I'm not a fuck up! I *need* to make him talk! 

Ray's heart stood still. He hadn't thought about that. *This is bad. This is bad. Please, Benny! Get out that fucking door!* Were the sirens sound closer? He couldn't tell ... 

Nicky was yelling. "In a few minutes, they'll probably call and tell us to shoot the cop. The FBI mole probably came through before I did." 

Simultaneously, both their cell phones rang. 

In unison, they grabbed their phones. 

Jimmy had dialed Ray. 

"Sal, get the fuck out of there. We're monitoring the police transmissions and units are coming to the scene because shots were fired. Shoot the cop and get the fuck out of there!" 

Ray watched horrifed as Nicky quicky shut his cell phone and pulled out his gun. He drew the hammer back and started running from the room. 

Apparently, he'd been given the same message. 

Nicky raced into the room where Fraser was being held. Ray was a step behind him. 

"What the fuck?!?" Nicky screamed as he looked wildly around the empty room. Ray held his breath. 

Then they heard it, tiny noises that were magnified by the silence in the warehouse. A soft grunt and the click of metal. 

They ran to the door and looked down the darkened corridor. It was hard to make out any figures or movements in the shadows. Then a thin shaft of light suddenly flooded the far end of the hallway, revealing Fraser as he struggled to open the door. 

* * *

"No!" 

Fraser froze as a scream came from behind him. 

Startled, he stumbled as he tried to turn around, causing the door to open more. 

The flash of a gun and then the sound of gunfire ... he felt the whisper of metal across his cheek. 

*Benny! Get out!* 

Stumbling, all of Fraser's weight pressed against the door, opening it, and the sudden bright daylight stabbed him through his damaged eyes. He threw his arm up to block the painful light. He took a step forward. 

* * *

Ray watched as Benny struggled to open the door, his heart pounding as it opened wider. Beyond Fraser, he saw the red and blue flashing lights of a police car and heard the siren scream as it raced towards the warehouse. 

"No! Nicky! The cops! We gotta get the fuck out of here!" Ray grabbed his arm. 

Panicked, Nicky continued to fire wildly down the hallway. 

For a timeless, silent moment, Benny stood on the threshold of the door, his arm thrown up; a silhouette created by the light and the dark. Seconds later, Ray saw Fraser crumple and start to fall head first down the steps. 

The door closed suddenly throwing the hallway back into darkness. 

"The cops, Nick! The cops! We gotta get out of here!" 

Through his panic and hysteria, he finally seemed to hear him and Nicky lowered his weapon. 

"Nicky! Jesus Christ! Come on! We gotta get out of here!" Ray screamed as he grabbed his arm, pulling him towards the rear exit. 

The two men raced out the back door and disappeared into the crowd in the subway. 

* * *

Nearly insensible, Fraser was only mildly disoriented and bewildered as he bounced and tumbled down the concrete steps. Coming to halt at the bottom, he lay there unmoving like a dead thing. 

He was gasping for breath. It was hard to breathe. 

He was vaguely aware of people rushing to his side and heard the soft exclamation 'Jesus, Mary, Joseph!' come from somewhere above him. He was surrounded by many people, their hands were on him, moving rapidly around his body. 

*Oh, no! They're back.* 

He heard himself cry out as he tried to pull away from them. 

"It's OK, buddy. You're safe. We gotcha now", a voice told him. The voice was soft and reassuring. "It's OK. You're safe. We gotcha. You're safe." 

The word resounded through him. Safe ... safe ... 

*Ray ...* was his last thought as he drifted away. 

* * *

Ralph Salerno watched as a strained looking Sal Angelaccio and a guilty looking Nicky Alessi approached him at Don Cimmino's bedside. He waved them forward and when they were close enough, he made a shushing gesture. Ray and Nicky exchanged glances and remained silent. 

"Give me your guns." Ray sighed and handed over his weapon while Nicky reluctantly handed over his. Ralph casually opened the chambers. He raised his eyebrow as his inspection confirmed what he had believed after being told of the events at the warehouse. "Hmm ... been shooting things up there a bit, huh Nicky?" 

He closed the chambers and handed the guns back. 

"I understand there was a very unpleasant ending to the situation at the warehouse. I am very unhappy with you, Nicky. The assignment was cake and because you couldn't stay calm and focused, the whole thing went to shit and I nearly lose three of my best men." 

"But Mr. Salerno", Nicky wailed, "the cop ... he got loose ..." 

"Quiet. We'll talk later." 

Ray and Nicky left the room and stood in the hallway as a small solemn group of only the closest family members continued to gather at the bedside to pay their last respects to Don Gaetano Cimmino. 

The men in the hallway spoke in hushed whispers and Ray learned about Ralph's first success. Theo Breslau and his three FBI escorts lay dead in a parking garage, victims of Ralph Salerno's assassins, Peter Capasse and Joseph Provenzano. 

Don Cimmino was dead only a few hours and already the organization was in disarray. Other Crime Families were retaliating against Salerno over the cop killings: trucks had been hi-jacked and their drivers beaten, warehouses were burning because they wanted to 'remind' Ralph Salerno that dead cops are not good for business. Any uneasy truces that had been formed among cop and criminal were now broken because of Ralph's actions. Even dirty cops had long memories and tended to get revengeful when the 'unwritten rules' were broken. 

The weeping and wailing women had been led from the room and the remaining men embraced and pledged their loyalty to the new head of the Crime Family, Ralph Salerno. 

* * *

For the next few hours, Ray and Ralph's driver Jimmy performed what Don Ralph Salerno called 'damage control'. They visited the beaten truck drivers and their wives giving them each thousands of dollars for their suffering and expressing Mr. Salerno's deepest regret for the ugly incident. The money was gratefully accepted and any ill feelings towards Mr. Salerno were quickly mollified. 

Ray performed his assigned duties well while not giving a hint of his inner turmoil. His mind kept racing back to see Benny standing at the threshold of the door and then crumpling and falling. 

*Nicky was firing his gun down the hallway at that time ... was he shot? Was Benny shot? Is he dead?* 

At his first opportunity, he resolved to find out. 

When he and Jimmy returned from visiting the truck drivers, Ralph was not smiling. Apparently things were not going well with his apologies to the other Crime Families. Ray had hoped that the night would end and he could find out about Benny. His hopes were dashed when Ralph announced that he was taking them all to dinner at Tucci's to celebrate what had been and what will be. 

* * *

It was a long meal, four hours, in which Don Ralph Salerno and his closest associates celebrated the life of Don Cimmino. 

Throughout the meal, Ray had to eat, drink, laugh, and act hearty. Only with a tremendous effort, was he able to eat and drink past the knot in his throat and the nausea in his stomach. His every thought was on Benny. 

His stomach lurched and twisted but he never once showed his inner anguish as he joked and laughed with his associates. 

Nicky came up to him after the party. 

Looking embarrassed he said, "Look, Sal. I just wanted to apologize for acting the way I did at the warehouse. I wouldn't never want to place you in any sort of jeopardy, ya know? I'm sorry I did." 

"Hey, it's OK, Nicky. Really. You were just upset. The past few days must have been hard on you." 

Nicky smiled at him. "Thanks, Sal." 

Ralph came up to them smiling and slapped them both on the back. 

"Hey, Mr. Salerno. I was just apologizing to Sal for all that warehouse crap today." 

"Ah -- that's OK. We all have bad days from time to time. Sal understands that. You did your best", Ralph said as he embraced Nicky. He stood back smiling at him and then leaned forward and kissed both of Nicky's cheeks. 

Betrayed by a kiss. 

Ray's heart stood still. 

Patting him warmly on the back, Ralph said, "Nicky, I want you to ride home with Petie and Joey tonight. I need the three of you for a job. They'll fill you in on the details." 

Nicky was beaming. "Sure, Mr. Salerno! Anything you need!" He said eagerly. 

He then turned and gave Ray a warm embrace. He whispered in his ear, "Hey! I guess I was wrong about Ralph. It wasn't a test! I'll see you, Sal." 

Ray returned the embrace. "I'll see you, Nicky", he managed to say over the lump in his throat. 

He watched as a smiling Nicky left eagerly with Joey and Petie. 

"Sal, I'm sorry about getting you mixed up in all that bullshit at the warehouse. Too bad that fuck-up Nicky couldn't get that jerk-off cop to talk. I just wanted Breslau dead. I hated to do the FBI agents, you know? Cops tend to get pretty vindictive when you piss 'em off." 

Ray stared levelly at Ralph Salerno, his face a mask. "Yeah. They do." 

Suddenly feeling a chill race down his spine, Ralph shivered slightly as he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Go home and get some rest, Sal. We still have alot of work to do in the morning." 

* * *

In the end, it hadn't been that difficult really. All Ray had to do was to place one well timed threat: leave the assignment right now. 

Ray felt no satisfaction as he spoke on the phone to his FBI contact who easily gave him everything he demanded. He knew when his ass was being kissed and he didn't like it. His annoyance and anger flared. One word came to mind: Push. Why not? Ray held all the cards and they both knew it. 

"You know, my niece just loves Walt Disney and Mickey Mouse. All that shit, you know? So one day I ask her what she wants for her sixth birthday. She tells me she wants a Mickey Mouse outfit. So I brought her the FBI." 

Silence. 

"What? You don't like my joke?" 

"Mr. Angelaccio, you know as well as I do that your cover was never in any real danger at the warehouse." 

Push. Make this calm bastard angry too. 

"Yeah, I *may* know that but that does not explain to me why a policeman who has a thirty-six block radius to patrol gets to the warehouse before my goddamn back-up does." 

"Our attentions had turned towards keeping Mr. Breslau safe." 

Push some more. "Yeah. And a fine job you did there too, pal. Did you even listen to me? At all?" 

"Yes. We most certainly listened and acted upon the information you supplied. At this time, as best we can figure out, Salerno's men surprised our agents while they were in the process of transporting Mr. Breslau to another location." 

Silence. 

Silence. 

He was still angry and pissed but decided to stop pushing. They had both lost family out there today. 

His FBI contact cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Mr. Angelaccio, the arrangements are these: You have been permitted a half-hour visit. At 2 A.M., be in St. Donato's Church behind the alter. Three Federal Marshals will meet you where they will escort you to ..." 

* * *

As the van sped through the deserted Detroit streets, Ray sat with his head in his hands. He raised his head and saw the lights of the hospital rooms that were twinkling in the distance coming closer. 

*Benny's laying behind one of those lights.* 

While he had been paying hush money to the truckers and having dinner at Tucci's, Fraser was in surgery. His mind kept replaying the information his FBI contact had given him. 

His contact spoke softly. "Constable Fraser did not suffer a gunshot wound but the fall down the steps caused already fractured ribs to push through his lung and into his liver. He was in surgery for six and a half hours. The lacerated liver and lung were repaired and internal bleeding was corrected. The opthomologist reported that the damage to the eyes, although severe, was not pathologic. Laser repairs had been done to repair the torn retina. They are hopeful that his vision will return to his pre-injury level. The beating was severe, there are some skull and facial fractures, and combined with the sugery the Constable had, they won't say what his chances are. There can be complications; they don't want to give anyone false hope. Right now his condition is listed as critical but stable." 

The van pulled deep into the hospital's loading dock. 

A quiet, "We're here, Mr. Angelaccio", cut through his thoughts. 

He was quickly escorted down the empty hospital corridor, flanked on both sides by Federal Marshals. 

Silently and with brisk efficiency, the door was quickly opened and he found himself standing in Fraser's room. One of the Federal Marshals whispered, "Clock's ticking as of right now, Mr. Angelaccio." 

Ray's heart clenched painfully and tears stung his eyes as he looked at Fraser. 

Gauze bandages were wrapped across his eyes and around his head to hold sterile gauze patches in place after his eye surgery. The head of the bed was raised and he was wearing an oxygen cannula to help his breathing and his damaged lung. His hands, elevated on pillows in an effort to help the swelling go down, were still horribly inflamed but the grotesque purplish color was gone. A chest tube, which kept his collapsed lung expanded, bubbled in a large closed plastic sterile continer on the floor. And machinery that beeped, clicked, and whistled was attached by wires to various parts of the Mountie's body. 

Ray watched as a thin man with blonde hair that stood straight up, wearing dungarees and a thin worn t-shirt, was standing over Fraser tenderly dabbing his swollen lips and mouth with a swab that he was dipping in ice water. He could hear the miniscule noise of the ice swishing around in the plastic cup. Although he couldn't hear the words, he could tell that the man was speaking soflty and reassuringly to Fraser. 

*My replacement.* He was told he'd be here. 

Ray's heart lightened, thanking God that Fraser had someone who seemed to care about him and would look after him. 

Ray cleared his throat and the man tending to Fraser spun around, surprised, suddenly aware of his presence. 

He greeted Ray with a tiny sad smile and a small nod of his head. *Fraser's old partner. The man I replaced.* He was told Ray Vecchio was coming. 

He then turned back to Fraser, and after laying a hand on his chest, spoke softly in his ear. 

"Ah, Frasier. Ray's here." 

He then stepped aside, relinquishing his spot to Ray Vecchio. 

He just had to take a few steps to Fraser's side, but he felt frozen to the spot until he saw in the low lighting Fraser's mouth begin to curl upwards in a smile. He softly said his name. 

"Ray." 

His heart, grieved because his recent homeless and friendless life, swelled and nearly broke with joy. He heard and felt the love and warmth in the Mountie's voice. It was a bittersweet reminder of his other 'life'. A life in which he knew he was wanted and loved. 

Fraser raised his hand a fraction from the pillow on which it rested in an obvious and painful effort to extend it to his friend. 

"Ray. Ray." 

Ray Vecchio quickly moved to the bedside, sat on the edge, and took the hand that his friend had offered. 

Fraser's bound eyes turned towards him as he continued to smile. Even in the low lighting, Ray could see the glint of the metal wires running through Fraser's teeth that held the unstable jaw together. 

"Ray ... Ray ...", Benny said softly between his clenched teeth, "it's so good ..." 

The effort had exhausted the Mountie and his head lolled on the pillow. Ray saw him breathe deeply, gathering his strength. Fraser's bound eyes turned towards him once again. 

"It's so good ...... so very good ...... to ...... see you", he gasped. 

Ray squeezed his hand gently. "It's good to see you too, Benny." 

Fraser continued to smile but ever so slowly, Ray watched as the Mountie's mouth relaxed. He listened as his breathing changed, becoming deep and regular, as sleep reclaimed Fraser. 

"Oh, Benny." 

Ray continued to hold his friend's hand, his own chin falling to his chest as he prayed for his friend. 

The bubbling sounds of the chest tube and swish of ice water in a plastic cup were the only sounds in the room. 

Ray Kowalski let Ray Vecchio sit quietly for a few minutes, not wanting to interfere with whatever thoughts or emotions he may be feeling. 

Time passed and Kowalski finally spoke. "He's, ah ... he's, ah ... been doing that for a bit now. He, ah ... wakes up for a little and then falls right back out again." 

Ray turned and regarded the man who was speaking to him. He looked exhausted. His eyes were sunken and red rimmed from lack of sleep. Three days worth of blond stubble covered his face. His FBI contact had told him about the frantic efforts of the Chicago P.D. as they tried to find the missing Canadian. No doubt this man led the search, causing him not to eat or sleep in three days. 

The thin blonde man switched the cup of ice water to his left hand and extended his right. 

"Ray Kowalski." 

"Ray Vecchio", he said, shaking his replacement's hand. 

"Thank you. You brought him back to us." 

"I did my best." 

The conversation died right there throwing the room into uncomfortable silence. 

Ray Kowalski stirred the ice water with the swab that was sticking out of the plastic cup; Ray Vecchio continued to look at the sleeping Fraser. 

Desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence with something other than the clicks and whistles of Fraser's machinery, Ray Vecchio said, "Will you be going back to Chicago soon?" 

"No. No, I, ah .... I'm gonna stay here with, ah ... Frasier for a few weeks. The docs said he can't be moved yet, so I, ah, got Lieutenant Welsh to spot me a few vacation days." 

"That's good. That's good to hear." 

"Yeah. That is good." 

Silence. 

He tried to stop himself ... he knew it would only make things worse for him, but he was losing the struggle; he had to know. Ray Vecchio cleared his throat, trying to push his tears away. 

"And how is Chicago ... doing?" He tried to sound casual. 

Ray Kowalski nodded. "Good. Chicago's good. Same old, same old." 

So near but yet so far. The memories he held in check were battering him, making him feel desperately sad and alone. For a moment, it would be OK but in the long run, it would only make things worse. New memories and thoughts of his family to plague him, making his isolation and situation unbearable. 

*It would be better not to know ... My family ... Don't ask ... My beloved family ... Oh God! Here it comes ...* 

He lowered his eyes, looking at the swollen hand, and tried to blink back his tears. 

"And ... how's my family?" 

"Their good. Real good." Kowalski cleared his throat. "It was ... ah, hard ... for them, you know? But they're good now. It was tough for your mom at first. But she thinks of it like those, ah ... missionaries and stuff like that. You know ... some people like got this special calling from God that others don't. God picked them to do His work. Kinda like light in the darkness. Hope for better things. She ... ah, sees you ... like that." 

Ray shook his head. "God's work? I don't think so." 

"Well ... it helps her ... to see it that way. And the rest of the family too. They're very proud of you and what you're doing." 

"Yeah?" 

"Oh yeah. Michael made his Confirmation last month and he picked 'Raymond' as his name. He was hoping your assignment would end so you could be his Sponsor. But, of course, it didn't ... so he asked Frasier." 

"Benny was his Sponsor? But he's not Catholic. They let him do that?" 

Ray Kowalski laughed. "I know. You'll love this ... your mom, she, ah, wrote the Pope." 

Vecchio laughed. "Yeah? She did that?" 

Kowalski nodded. "Yeah. She wrote him this big letter and all ... included all these newspaper clippings and everything." 

Ray Vecchio smiled. "That sounds like Ma." 

"But it didn't have to go to the head guy though. The Cardinal ... he got Frasier ah, whatchamacallit, ah ... 'Special Dispensation' so it all worked out good." 

Ray Vecchio shook his head as he looked at Fraser's handsome battered face and cleared his throat. "I miss them. I miss them all so much. They used to make me crazy. But I miss them so bad it hurts. Do you know that since I've been undercover, not *one* of my suits has been ruined." 

Ray Kowalski looked at him bewildered. 

Vecchio smiled. "Tell Fraser that, OK?" 

Kowalski nodded, trying to understand but realizing it must be a Frasier/Vecchio 'thing'. Something he was not a part of and never would be. "Sure," he said simply. 

Ray continued to stroke the back of Fraser's hand. "But I guess it really is true -- you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone ... It's the little things, you know? The little things that tear me apart and make me want to leave this assignment. I wonder at night ... my nieces and nephews ... I wonder who's helping Joseph with his math homework or has Rosa stopped beating up the neighborhood boys. Do they use the tire swing that Fraser and I made them. Little stupid things that make your memories. Little stupid things that make up your life. I don't have that now." 

A loud groan suddenly came from the bed followed by a short scream. Fraser was tossing slightly on the bed, calling out. His breathing was shallow and coming in gasps. 

"Ah ... ah ..." 

Alarmed, Ray Vecchio quickly stood. After putting the ice water on the bedside table, Ray Kowalski dashed to the opposite side of the bed. 

Placing his hand on Fraser's shoulder, Ray Vecchio spoke softly in the Mountie's ear. "Benny, it's OK ... you're safe now." 

"Ray ..... hurts ..." 

Ray watched as Kowalski quickly reached across Fraser's body and pressed a button that was pinned to the front of Fraser's hospital gown. The button was attached by a wire to an IV pump. 

"There you go, Frasier", the blonde cop said. He spoke in a soothing voice as he placed his left hand in the Mountie's hair while his thumb stroked his brow. "There you go ... I just gave you some more medication ... that'll help." 

"Ah ... hurts ... hurts ..." 

"Shh ... nice regular breaths, Benny ... that's it." 

They watched as the Mountie visibly relaxed. 

"That's it, Frasier ... breathe in nice and easy ... in and out ... the medication will help." 

Gasping, Fraser seemed to hear. He nodded. 

Kowalski spoke quietly. "Frasier's, ah ... attached to an IV that is giving him a controlled dose of narcotics. The nurse showed me this button", he said, indicating the small devise pinned to the gown. "It gives him an extra dose if he needs it. Good thing ... I haven't had to push it much so far." 

Fraser's breathing became deep and regular. The Mountie was asleep. 

Still on opposite sides of the bed, they stood in silence looking at their friend. 

After a time, Kowalski cleared his throat. "No. No. And yes." 

Ray Vecchio was confused. "What?" 

"No. No. And yes." 

"I'm not following." 

"A few minutes ago. You asked about your nieces and nephews. No. No one at home helps Joseph with his math homework because I don't think anyone really can. He's so advanced in math that he won a four year science and math scholarship to St. John's Prep." 

Ray Vecchio gasped and felt tear gather in his eyes. 

"No", Kowalski laughed, "Rosa has not stopped beating up the neighborhood boys. I keep telling her she won't get a boyfriend that way. She says she doesn't care. She doesn't want one." 

Ray smiled. 

"And yes. They do use the tire swing. They use it so much that the grass has been long gone and there's a rut in the dirt." 

"Thank you," Ray Vecchio said softly through his tears. 

There was a quiet knock on the door and one of the Federal Marshals looked in the room. "It's time, Mr. Angelaccio." 

Ray Vecchio swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat. 

"Ralph Salerno used Benny as a test for someone else. He never needed the information he had. The organization is in an uproar now -- the situation that Benny was involved in is over and Ralph's attentions are elsewhere now; he's not interested in Fraser anymore. With all that considered, I think Benny will be safe. But as a condition of my returning to the assignment, the FBI are going to be keeping a watch on Benny. I'm sure he'll figure *that* out on his own anyway. Salerno has people everywhere so the doctors are going to write in his chart that he has amnesia of all the events. Tell Fraser not to speak to anyone on the record about what happened. Officially, he's to say that he doesn't remember anything: about Breslau and his contacts with the FBI, about going to the hotel, about getting into the elevator. Also tell him that, in time, justice will be done. I'm going to see to it." 

"I'll tell him. I'll tell him. I'll make sure he knows everything," Ray Kowalski said quickly. "Do you think you'll get the chance to stop back? When Frasier's better, I mean?" 

After running his hand through Fraser's hair, Ray Vecchio bent forward and kissed the Mountie's forehead. He looked at his beloved friend. 

He shook his head. "No. I won't be back." 

He turned to face Benny's friend and new partner. "Please tell him that I was here and that I did my best." 

"I will," Ray Kowalski said as he extended his hand. 

Ray Vecchio took his hand. "Take care of them for me." 

"I will." 

* * *

The Federal Marshals exchanged glances as they all knew the look on Salvatore Angelaccio's face. The look of someone who had enough; the look of someone who had given up the greater part of themselves; the look of someone who was questioning the meaning of their undercover assignment. 

They kept quiet. The driver went slow through the Detroit streets; no need to rush the man back into a life and situation which he obviously hated. The radio played softly in the otherwise silent van. 

Ray Vecchio sat with his head in his hands. He felt torn in two. One part in pain and howling mad at Ralph Salerno ... wanting to make that bastard pay for all the hurt he caused; the other part anguished and screaming at the loss of his family and himself. He was a man defined by family -- and he needed them as much as the air he breathed. 

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. 

A song played on the radio. 

... Another turning point, A fork stuck in the road ... ... Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go ... ... So make the best of this test and don't ask why ... ... It's not a question but a lesson learned in time ... ... It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right ... 

What did Kowalski say about his mother? She saw him as doing God's work? He nearly laughed out loud. Just what fucking good *was* he doing anyway? It's not like Ralph Salerno would be the end. Not by a long shot. There would be someone else just ready, willing, and able to replace him. Another battle to fight. 

... So take the photographs and still frames in your mind ... ... Hang them on a shelf of good health and good time ... ... Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial ... ... For what it's worth, it was worth all the while ... ... It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right ... 

Sister Fidelis ... his frightening sixth grade teacher, Sister Fidelis ... why was he thinking of her all of a sudden? What was it that she used to say? About defining moments? God chooses moments for you ... defining moments that He has prepared you for ... moments only for you and no one else ... you never knew when your moment would come, she'd say ... and you had to be ready to do His will ... 

... For what it's worth, it was worth all the while ... ... It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right ... 

Yeah. There'd be many a Ralph Salerno through life ... and even more people like Joey Paducci, Marco Metrani, and Benton Fraser. Innocents. The innocent people who had suffered because of them ... 

*Is this my defining moment? Is this what I was meant to do?* 

... For what it's worth, it was worth all the while ... ... It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right ... 

As the van moved through the night, Ray's mind was filled with Ralph Salerno. It was clear to him now ... he had to do his best to make wrong, right. It wouldn't be easy ... it never was for those who tried. 

The pain at the loss of his old 'life' and anger he felt at how Benny suffered would feed him. He'd use that to keep him alive. 

If anger can be power, hell, he was the most powerful man on earth. 

As the van moved through the night, Ray thought of all the tasks he had to do. He knew he would accomplish them. 

~~~The End~~~ 

Disclaimers:  
DS characters and 'Good Riddance' by Green Day used without permission. Comments:  
Please! Any criticism -- good, bad, or indifferent -- helps me improve! 


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